The Curse of the Sugar Plum Fairy
by fenrirs
Summary: Dean's only wish is to spend the holidays with his little brother. His VERY little brother...


They decorated the tree in the bunker on Christmas Eve. It had been a difficult few weeks, and festivities had been the last thing on their minds, but things had died down lately, and in the absence of a case to pursue and no demons currently on their radar (besides the one chained up in the basement), Sam and Dean had decided that they may as well take this time to do Christmas the good old-fashioned way – who knew when they might get a chance to relax together again?

OK, so it wasn't perfect – Castiel was still without his grace or his wings, and Sam had rather too much of that, but Dean was relying on the angel within Sam lying low for a while. Angels had to understand the significance of love and family at Christmastime, right?

It had probably all started, in retrospect, when the brothers were wrestling with each other over who got to put the angel on the top of the tree. Castiel watched them in confusion – he couldn't for the life of him figure out why it was so important, but the boys hadn't had a proper Christmas since, well, ever, so they were both determined to make this one in their new home as Christmassy as possible. And that did include ridiculous festive sweaters (which Castiel failed to see the humour in) and fighting over the decorations.

Sam won, of course, with an elbow to Dean's face and a triumphant _ha!_, jamming the glittery 99-cent plastic thing on the top of the tree and standing back to admire his work. Dean, grumbling, receded, rubbing his jaw. "You know, it shouldn't be like this," he grumbled. "The honours should go to the oldest brother – that's – that's just disrespectful, man."

Sam shrugged, a tiny smile curling at his lips, a little smug. "Can't help it I grew up taller than you, Dean."

"Yeah, well." Dean glared at the angel as though personally offended by it. "I sure wish you hadn't. I wish you were small enough that I could still pick you up and toss you in the trunk of the Impala when I get tired of you."

"Like that ever happened."

"I thought about it." Dean grinned and turned away from the tree, smacking Sam on the shoulder. "Looks good, man. All you gotta do now is make sure that turkey's good and roasted and we got ourselves a merry little Christmas." He rubbed his hands together.

And it did look like it was going to be a merry Christmas. The couple of presents they'd managed to get for each other were all wrapped up, piled on top of each other with the lights on the tree flickering. The whole thing looked very cosy.

/

Christmas morning, and the smell of turkey was already wafting from the kitchen before they started opening presents – Sam had gotten up specially, because he knew Dean wouldn't want to wait for his Christmas lunch. As he was waiting for Dean, and Cas, and Kevin (who had showed up at the last moment on Christmas Eve, covered in snow and looking a little worse for wear and mumbling something about ancient languages and Mexican food) to wake up, he sat down, legs crossed, and looked up at the tree like a little kid.

He wouldn't have done it if Dean was watching – hell, he wouldn't have done it unless he was sure he was alone, but there was something about staring up at that glittering tree with the sparkling lights in his eyes that made him think of happier times. OK, maybe, looking back, they hadn't been so happy, but he had been with Dean then, when they were kids, and when he hadn't really understood how much pain and darkness the world held.

He stayed there for a while, just grateful for the fact that after everything they'd been through they still had each other and were more or less alive for the time being, when he smelt something other than the turkey. It was a sweet smell, and seemed to be coming from the tree. Curious, brow furrowed, Sam stood to investigate, drawing himself up to his full – and not inconsiderable – height. The smell was sudden and very strong, like some sort of candy or fruit. He stepped forward to sniff at the tree – the source of the smell – and found himself choking on it. He stumbled backwards, coughing, and took a few desperate breaths, preparing to sneeze...

...and all of a sudden the world was spinning around him. He felt as though he was falling from a great height, but he never landed. Instead, he found himself standing upright in a world that was now just as still as it had ever been, but very different. There didn't seem to be anything around him for miles. He could make out shapes in the distance, but – hang on. Was that – was that his Christmas tree? But it couldn't be; it was enormous!

What had happened to the world? He looked around in a panic, trying to make sense of things. Yes, this was the room he had been in before, but everything seemed a thousand times the size. He started to panic, though he tried to tell himself what it could be, going through the options in his head. A trickster? _In the bunker?_

"Dean!" he yelled, out of habit, and then clapped a hand over his mouth, for his voice had come out in a high-pitched squeak, like a frightened mouse. Of course, the world hadn't gotten bigger – he had gotten smaller!

And as it turned out, he needn't have called for Dean. Even as he stood, looking around in terror, he heard (and felt) thunderous footsteps approaching – three sets, as Dean, Cas, and Kevin came into the room.

"Turkey's on," he heard Dean's voice from high above. "Hey, Sammy must have gone out for a jog."

Sam shut his eyes in pain and covered his ears. Dean's voice was _loud_ and he had no idea Sam was there. Sam tried to shout up at him, or to Cas or to Kevin, but neither of them could hear over their own voices. Sam scampered away a little bit, so that the voices weren't so booming – but just as he heard them give up on him as a lost cause and decide to open the presents without him (a little unfair, he thought, seeing as he'd been the one to get up early and prepare the food, but that wasn't really the greatest of his concerns), they started to walk towards him.

Several giant feet came crashing down in his direction and he had just enough time to scurry under the tree and hide behind a giant, gleaming present before he was trodden to death. His heart was pounding. He leant against the present and held onto it for dear life, trying to think. He tried again to shout up, but they were now too busy with the crinkling wrapping paper that they couldn't hear his cries. Suddenly, the present he was hanging onto to steady himself was lifted high into the air – by Kevin, he had just enough time to see – before he let go and dropped what must have only been several inches but felt like several metres.

He landed with the tiniest of tiny thuds on the floor, whimpering to himself. But no time to lie there in self-pity; they'd be back to collect the others before he knew. He had to get to a place of safety, he knew, and make sure no-one could crush him accidently. Groaning, he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up, making a break for the tree. It was artificial and stood on three little legs, which meant he could climb up the slope of them without slipping off. He was grateful the tree, at least, was not in a pot.

He shimmied up the centre pole, wincing as the bristles scratched at his skin. When he reached a place that seemed to be level with everyone else's faces, he crept out onto the branch, clutching it tight with his tiny fingers. He peered out through the fake greenery, panting, and waiting. Soon enough, as he'd expected, Dean made his way back over to the tree, head turned, talking to Cas over his shoulder.

"Hey! Hey! Dean!" yelled Sam, loudly as he could. Dean didn't seem to hear him, and he bent down to pick up the gift from under the tree. "_DEAN!_" Desperate, he jumped up and down (or, as much as he could, being on all fours), and shook the branch as hard as possible. That seemed to get Dean's attention when he looked up.

Confused, he stared into the depths of the tree. "Dean, it's me!" called Sam. Dean stared, frowning, for a moment, seemingly not processing what he was seeing. Then he seemed to realise.

"Sammy? My God, what the Hell happened to you?"

"I – I don't know," said Sam, still speaking loudly. He could already feel his throat becoming hoarse. "There was a weird smell, and – and then – you gotta find a way to fix this, Dean!"

But Dean was laughing.

"Stop that!" said Sam, annoyed.

"Hey – you're my _little_ brother!" Sam looked at him without amusement. "Oh, come on," said Dean. "That's funny."

"It is not funny!" yelled Sam, though his voice was still not much louder than a squeak. "It's terrifying!"

"What's the matter?" asked a booming voice, which belonged to Castiel, as he wandered over.

"Something happened to Sam," said Dean, and then he seemed to become serious. "You _any_ idea what caused it, Sammy?"

"None," said Sam, wincing at the voices. He saw Kevin arrive, too. Great, he thought, a gathering, peering in at him like some specimen in a lab. "I was thinking maybe a trickster, but..."

"Whatever it is, how do we fix it? Cas, you seen anything like this before?"

"No," said Castiel, "though it does seem like something a trickster would find amusing..."

"The only trickster we know is dead," said Dean, flatly.

"Whatever it is, can we _please_ try and fix it?" called Sam desperately, from his position on the tree branch.

"_How_?" said Dean, still looking completely perplexed. "You're – you're _tiny_, Sam. Tiny!"

"We do have the King of Hell chained up in the dungeon!" said Sam. Normally he wouldn't have suggested _any_ such thing, but this was a new and terrifying experience, and Crowley had been on his best behaviour recently and a lot more, well, human. He might at least be able to offer some advice. Dean turned away, scowling, but Sam persisted. "You have to at least _ask_, Dean! I'm in danger of being stepped on! I—" But he had to pause to cough, and couldn't speak any more.

"All right, all right, fine!" said Dean. "All right, we'll go ask Crowley. But if he wants us to do any weird demon magic..."

"Thanks," rasped Sam, crawling forwards and making his way to the hand Dean held out for him.

/

Down in the dungeon, Crowley was sitting chained up, looking bored and smug as always.

"Merry Christmas," said Dean sarcastically. He was still cradling Sam in his hand. Castiel and Kevin had decided it was best to stay away.

"And to you," said Crowley in a low growl. "I can feel the festive cheer positively radiating from you."

"OK, here's how it is," said Dean. "You ever heard of a guy being shrunk?"

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Shrunk?"

"Yeah, you know. Made all tiny."

"I'm familiar with the word," said Crowley. "Look, if it's about your member, Dean, I wish I could help—"

"My brother!" said Dean, and Sam could feel his voice shaking in the chest he was being held against. Crowley looked interested. "Sam's been turned tiny, dammit, and we got no idea what to do about it. So, if you do, you better start talkin'. Think of it as your Christmas gift to us."

Crowley blinked, and tilted his head. "Ah – it's your _little_ brother, then."

"That's not funny," snapped Dean. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Now, didn't I hear you wish just yesterday that he was small enough to toss around?" asked Crowley, resettling himself in his chair.

"N—How did you hear that?" asked Dean.

"I hear everything," said Crowley.

"What's that got to do with anything?" snarled Dean.

Crowley shrugged. "Nothing. Except – it looks like someone got their Christmas wish."

Dean looked down at Sam, horror-struck, and Sam gazed back up at him. "Are you... saying this is my fault?" Dean asked Crowley.

"If the cap fits."

"_Why_?"

"Gift from the Sugar Plum Fairy. Merry Christmas." Crowley smirked.

"_What_?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Look, I've got no idea. Just seems like a very strange coincidence."

"OK," said Dean. "Thanks for all your help." He turned to leave.

"Oh, wait," Crowley called after him. "Don't I get something in return? It's Christmas, after all. Show a little compassion."

/

It wasn't quite the Christmas dinner Sam had been looking forward to, but it was quite sweet in its own way. Kevin had promised him that he'd read all the books he could to restore Sam's size as soon as possible, and Castiel had offered to take over the cooking of the Christmas dinner. He wanted to get the hang of being human, he said, properly, and what better place to start than preparing food for this celebration of love and the birth of God's son?

Sam watched them eat from the middle of the table, stealing gingerbread cookies from a small plate in the middle as Kevin sat at the opposite end of the table and glared, stony-faced, at Crowley, whom Dean had somehow managed to manhandle into a ridiculous Christmas jumper (still in manacles) and who looked as though he was beginning to regret asking to be released from the dungeon. Dinner was oddly silent and uncomfortable, and with Sam's condition he knew he shouldn't exactly be feeling very festive, but somehow he did feel oddly content. It was quite nice in a way, really, to have everyone together – the entire family, because he did consider Castiel and Kevin as part of their family now. And Crowley, well – he wasn't being as much of an asshole as he could have been, so that was something to give thanks for.

All in all, it was not as awful a day as it had seemed it was going to be when he'd first found himself shrunk. Everyone seemed to be going out of their way to keep him from getting squashed to death, and he even managed to find it in himself to let out a tiny laugh when Castiel, bringing the chocolate pudding to the table, dropped a comparatively large dollop on his head and Crowley smirked and said, "Chocolate Moose."

And across the room, the angel on the top of the tree, unseen, came to life and fluttered away, leaving a trail of little candy wrappers behind it.

* * *

_A gift for my own Moose - Merry Christmas to you, my friend! (Just pretend they had a Christmas there.)_


End file.
